


Caranthir: A Parent's Love

by ThatFeanorian



Series: 50 Character Studies for 50 Silmarillion Elves (...and Valar... And Maiar) [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Caranthir feels lonely, Curufin is a jerk, Embroidery, I so headcanon this, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry, and unloved, because he's like 5, because his brothers are super talented, but he is also a toddler so he gets a pass, oblivious Fëanor, oblivious father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFeanorian/pseuds/ThatFeanorian
Summary: In Valinor, surrounded by brothers who all seem to be talented and loved, Caranthir feels alone until he discovers something that he thinks might just get his parents to notice him.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Curufin | Curufinwë, Caranthir | Morifinwë & Fëanor | Curufinwë, Caranthir | Morifinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Caranthir | Morifinwë & Sons of Fëanor, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: 50 Character Studies for 50 Silmarillion Elves (...and Valar... And Maiar) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568458
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Caranthir: A Parent's Love

**Author's Note:**

> Sentance Bio: Caranthir was the 4th son of Fëanor, and he travelled with the rest of his family to Beleriand, owning the land of Thargelion until his death in Doriath.

Carnistir bounced down the stairs two at a time in a rare burst of happiness, excitement practically rolling off him in waves. Mist sparkled under the light of the two trees beyond his window, and his father had promised that they would go fishing that day. Rare indeed were the moments in which Carnistir could claim to have his father's full attention, with three older brothers and a baby it was rare to even find a moment of silence, but Carnistir knew for absolutely certain that nothing was going to stop him today. He bounded to the front door, pulling on a pair of tall boots that had once belonged to Celegorm, then sprinted in the direction of the kitchen, barreling straight into Maitimo's legs as he exited the room. His eldest brother reached down, catching him before he fell backwards from the force of the impact and pulled Carnistir into his arms one-handed,

"What has you in such a hurry little one?" He asked with a grin, and Carnistir, red-faced with excitement and bouncing up and down in his brother's arms replied

"Atar said we could go fishing this morning!" Laughing, Maitimo set him down, planting a kiss on the top of his head as Carnistir sprinted off, and calling after him,

"Don't run in the house!" Fully ignoring this command, the little boy approached his target reaching out to latch himself onto his customary spot just below Fëanáro's knee, only to find Curufinwë already there. Brought up short, Carnistir scowled at the toddler --who spared him an evil grin as if this had been his plan all along-- and settled for grabbing his father's hand and tugging on it as hard as he could,

"Atar!" Instead of answering him, Fëanáro called down the table,

"Macalaurë take that confounded instrument off the table. I will not be fixing it if you spill more juice on those strings." There was a loud complaint and then mumbled acceptance from beyond Carnistir's view, and he tugged again on his father's hand, repeating a little louder,

"Atar!" But Fëanáro again didn't seem to hear him, flopping into his seat with a sigh and plucking Curufinwë off his leg and placing the toddler his lap. The toddler giggled with glee and smashed a spoon into the bowl before Carnistir's father and spraying milk across the table. Carnistir glared again at the little boy, and kicked at the leg of his father's chair, finally catching Fëanáro's attention,

"Carnistir, do not kick. We use words to express ourselves after the age of six." Opening his mouth in indignant protest, Carnistir felt his face flush as he responded,

"But Atar I did and you didn't listen and you said we were going fishing!" Frowning, Fëanáro reached across the table, plucking a sharp knife out of Tyelkormo's hands where he had been sliding it across his palm and was fairly close to drawing blood,

"I know I said that but your mother was called away earlier for a new commission, and there is no way I can leave the house alone. Another day perhaps?" Carnistir's lip wobbled, face going a previously undiscovered shade of red as he watched Curufinwë cackling and throwing wet cereal across the table with no reprimand at all. Glaring accusingly at his father, he whined,

"You never say no to anyone else. Why can't Nelyo just be in charge, he does it all the time." Now scowling himself, Fëanáro dodged a hunk of cereal, narrowly avoiding being hit in the eye,

"Please stop that Curvo --I am not saying no, Carnistir, your brother is not bound in service to take care of you all until the end of days. You just need to --my darling precious, that is not what we do with food-- wait a few more days and then we can go out." Curufinwë let out a gleeful scream and grinned maliciously at Carnistir as if he had planned the whole thing, and his father turned away from him, now snatching Tyelkormo's fork from him. Going purple, Carnistir kicked off his boots, leaving them in the middle of the floor and running out of the room. Fine. If his father wanted to be that way, two could play at that game. 'Just a few days" indeed. In a few days, Fëanáro would have forgotten any promise he might have made, and Carnistir would once again fade into the background, a forgotten middle child whos brothers mattered more than he did. Even useless Curufinwë with his bratty cereal throwing had more potential and parental love than he did.

Reaching his room, Carnistir threw himself back onto his meticulously made bed, fully clothed and sobbed, knowing exactly why no one loved him. They all had their talents, his brothers. Nelyo had politics, where he was loved by every lord and lady of Tirion, Macalaurë had his music, Tyelkormo his adventures --which Carnistir did not understand the purpose of, but at least they were something--, and Curufinwë was the youngest, a usurper who had stolen his role and who he wasn't even allowed to be angry at. What did he, Carnistir, have? What was there that was untaken and available for him to excel in? Curling into a ball, he picked absent-mindedly at the embroidery on his coverlet, thinking hard. The pale blue thread beneath his fingers began to fray and pull and Carnistir glared at it in annoyance, before suddenly an idea jumped into his mind. Body whirring once again with excitement, Carnistir snuck down the hall and into his parents' room, climbing awkwardly up onto their bed and retrieving a large box that rested on his mother's bedside table. Surely this would allow him to be loved.

Hours later there was a hesitant knock on his door and Carnistir reluctantly put aside the needle and thread, moving to hide the half-finished pattern he had been working on. Fëanáro entered the room, eyes following his son's motions curiously and asking,

"What is that?" Flushing slightly, Carnistir shook his head and covered the pattern, which in his opinion was still not very good despite being his tenth consecutive attempt. Deftly Fëanáro plucked the sampler from beneath his hands, and Carnistir flushed a deeper red, looking down at his feet. Glancing up from the embroidery, Fëanáro eyed his son, and tossed it to the head of the bed, scooting over to wrap an arm around his son,

"You made that?" Carnistir nodded hesitantly, and Fëanáro pulled the boy into his lap,

"It is beautiful." Flushing ever deeper, though now with pleasure, Carnistir burrowed into his father's arms as Fëanáro murmured,

"I am sorry we could not spend time together today little one. I promise soon we will, yes?" Nodded, Carnistir nestled himself against his father's chest, listening to the rumble of his speech inside, and knew that he had achieved his goal. He had finally found a skill that would make his parents love him.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I do 100% believe the headcanon that Caranthir does embroidery. It is one of my favourites.
> 
> This is also super biased, Caranthir is like 5 here, and I don't agree that Fëanor was a bad dad. I think he was probably a really amazing dad. This is just a kid feeling unloved because suddenly there is a younger sibling in the way when you have been the youngest for a long time (no, I'm not projecting onto Caranthir, what are you talking about! Little Me never felt such emotions)
> 
> Also, I am sorry. I keep meaning to simplify with Sindarin names, but my hands and my head like Quenya so much better. Plus, this one is in Valinor, so I have plausible deniability.
> 
> Carnistir - Caranthir
> 
> Fëanáro - Fëanor
> 
> Maitimo/Nelyo - Maedhros
> 
> Curufinwë/Curvo - Curufin
> 
> Macalaurë - Maglor
> 
> Tyelkormo - Celegorm
> 
> Atar - father


End file.
